Treasures Lost Then Found Again
by M'Celeste
Summary: Summary: As wonderful as the story of Elizabeth and Darcy is, it could hardly be unique. This tale plays on the theme that there's nothing new under the sun. What goes around comes around, time and time again.


_Summary: As wonderful as Elizabeth and Darcy's story is, it could hardly be unique. This tale plays on the theme that there's nothing new under the sun. What goes around comes around, time and time again. _

_Author's Note: I originally posted this story almost thirteen years ago at both the Republic of Pemberley and Derbyshire Writers' Guild where my pen name was Michele V. I decided to dust it off a bit and post it here to share it with a new audience. I hope you'll find some pleasure in it!_

_Disclaimer: The only profit I derive from Ms. Austen and her legacy is enjoyment and inspiration._

Treasures Lost Then Found Again

It must have started out as an insignificant caretaker's cottage; there could be little doubt of that. The rough hewn stone exterior promised nothing more, and it's small, squarish, unadorned interior delivered still less. From humble work-a-day beginnings it fell yet further into abandonment and ill-repair. One day - no one alive remembers how long ago - it was discovered by a young child named Darcy on whose family lands this cottage stood. The small, low-raftered room saw new life, as a throne room one day, a pirate's cabin the next. It went on to be discovered and abandoned, treasured and forgotten, by successive generations of Darcys. And so it goes.

It was now forgotten, but soon to be discovered by someone who was neither a child nor, strictly speaking, a Darcy.

"THAT old thing?" said Fitzwilliam Darcy to his bride of several months, "Elizabeth, I fear ten miles 'round will not be enough to contain you. Persist in wandering about like this and you'll find yourself having tea at Oak Hill with Lady Prescott." Of course this was said with a smile, some large degree of exaggeration (Oak Hill and Lady Prescott were fifteen miles distant), and no small amount of pride. His wife shared his love of physical exercise, and was in fact an excellent walker.

Elizabeth's next visit to the cottage found it cleared of leaves and debris and scrubbed clean, with roof and glazing patched. This somehow came as no surprise. "As a boy I was quite fond of that old place," said Fitzwilliam, by way of explanation. "I spent many happy hours there playing jailer to Wickham's convict", he mused. "Very fond memories, indeed."

The next time around saw them both. Darcy's stated purpose in coming was to see how the repairs had gone; his unstated one to see what else could be done to add to his wife's comfort. As touched as Elizabeth was by Darcy's thoughtfulness, she could not help but be amused by such a flurry of activity over something mentioned in passing. "Really, Fitz! Let's not add the library just yet, at least not before the ball room. Now, a small breakfast room perhaps..."

"Nonsense. I only mean to add a few simple furnishings, much as it was when I first found the place. If you should find yourself caught by a storm on the north end of the park you'll at least have decent shelter nearby." After a quick glance towards the hearth Fitzwilliam added, "I'll have the chimney cleaned as well."

"And a housekeeper, Fitz. We're becoming quite grand now."

"Nonsense."

Darcy shook his head and smiled. He knew that one day Elizabeth would thank him for his foresight. With the purpose of being there on the spot whenever that should happen, he took to walking with his wife more often. As it just so happened the wait wasn't a long one. On what had promised to be a fine day, a sudden gathering of clouds caught them midway between Pemberley and the cottage. One shared glance and by mutual consent they ran towards the less ostentatious of the two. There's nothing formal about a cottage, and in the absence of servants Elizabeth's thank you was spontaneous and pleasant. A sudden hug and an upturned pretty face simply demanded a kiss in return. There was nothing else to be done! Yes, Darcy congratulated himself; he'd had great foresight indeed.

Over time the cottage, or The Palace as Elizabeth liked to call it, became the destination of their walks, not just a pleasant turn aside. It was found to be an ideal place for ruminations at the window, debates by the hearth, and picnics on the lawn. Cravats were loosened, hair came unpinned, and an occasional bare foot could be seen. And since a cottage simply will not tolerate starched notions, Darcy's rather formal demeanor, already improved by his wife's attentions, became by degrees even more yielding. Here, Elizabeth became 'Dear Lizzy' at last. Here, Darcy learned to laugh at all things ridiculous, even if he comprised part of the catalog. Here, a deep and steady love founded in friendship, respect and mutual attraction was forged stronger still.

As the summer months approached, The Palace increased in importance. They would visit there frequently; often together, but sometimes alone for solitary musings. It was on one of these solitary rambles that Darcy pondered what it was about this place that made it so dear to him, how something so inconsequential could have afforded such pleasure at two very different times in his life.

His had been a structured childhood. Though indulged by loving parents he'd been given strict guidelines to follow; a strong sense of duty, honor and right, and a deep seated pride in all that it meant to be a Darcy. Yet, there had been those fleeting moments when he could be free, unshackled from societal expectations and allowed to be, simply, a boy. Many of those happy moments had taken place here, within these walls.

Fitzwilliam recalled the day he first discovered the cottage, having stumbling upon it quite by accident. He was on his way to go fishing in a small brook he had found, an insignificant offshoot of the trout stocked stream his father frequented. Such a slight indication of a path could have been easily overlooked if he hadn't dropped his tackle box. But a path it was! And as Fitzwilliam had never before explored it, he must go down.

There at the very end, standing in a field strewn with wildflowers, was someone's little house. Certainly someone must live there, as pretty and well tended as it was. But then again, he reasoned, if someone _did_ live there the path would have been quite worn down. Well, a quick look in the window would solve his question once and for all! Fitzwilliam hesitated, wondering at the propriety of such an act until he remembered that these were Darcy lands after all. And even if they weren't, _he_ was a Darcy! That would make it right. '_I think',_ he added to himself. Unfortunately, the inside was quite dark; not much being visible beyond the gauzy curtains. Fitzwilliam could just make out a table and two mismatched chairs by the hearth and a small cot at the other end. He gave it another quick glance just to be certain. Yes, that was all. No clothes, no pots and pans, certainly not enough to call it a home.

As is the general rule, the less a small boy knows about a great mystery, the greater is his desire to solve it. With that principle at work and fishing long forgotten, Fitzwilliam ran home to see his father and inquire after the place. He found both of his parents together. Even in his childish excitement he could sense that they did not share his enthusiasm. There was even a note of disappointment, or sadness perhaps, in his father's voice when he answered, "No one lives there son. I used to play there as a boy."

A treasure of this magnitude demanded to be shared. As Fitzwilliam ran from the room to find his friend George Wickham, he could just overhear his father say to his mother, "Anne, we've been usurped! The Castle is seized. I knew I would rue this day."

~o~O~o~

Young Darcy had been far too single minded that day to consider his fathers words, except to think it a little odd that his finding something so wondrous would make anyone unhappy. Grown Darcy would be single minded on _this _day, as his thoughts drifted towards other, more recent sources of happiness. Fitzwilliam considered another treasure - so dear! - that he had once lost, and of the blessed opportunity he'd been given to claim it again. So deep in thought over these recollections he found himself taken aback by the sudden sound of wood creaking, accompanied by a widening shaft of bright sunlight.

"Fitz?"

Darcy turned to see the subject of his reverie standing at the door.

"I thought I would find you here," she said. "We missed you... well, Georgiana missed you..." Elizabeth stopped her teasing mid sentence to smile. Standing before her was a happy man. "Mrs. Reynolds has lain down the law, dear," she continued. "I believe her exact words were 'The Master has missed breakfast; he shan't miss tea!' Besides, I believe we're in for an unfortunate change in the weather. Perhaps we should turn back together?"

Darcy was surprised on checking his watch to see that time had indeed slipped away from him, and now that the subject was brought up he was, in fact, rather hungry. Drawing his wife's arm through his own, they set off for Pemberley. They hadn't gone very far before it became plain that the weather was most definitely about to change. A storm of some importance was swiftly overtaking them as the air turned unnaturally still, the winds came and the sky went black. There would be no out running this one!

A person inclined toward the philosophical will approach every situation with the ability to bear it, if not with grace and equanimity, at least with good humor. With only a hat, a bonnet and a small lace parasol to protect them it seemed philosophy was in order. In the fatalistic manner of a lone foot soldier rushing to meet the oncoming cavalry, Lizzy, in the face of what promised to be a downpour, calmly opened her parasol. They burst out laughing and ran back towards The Palace.

Breathless and drenched they fell, laughing still, into the room. Thoughts of tea were quite overthrown, but at least other comforts could be had. With the help of a flint and dry kindling, a promising fire soon provided light and warmth. But lingering problems remained; problems of great import. What to do about the clothing soaked quite through? What to do about the droplets of rain sparkling like diamonds in Lizzy's hair and one – quite vexing! - glistening just above her lips? What to do about the intoxicating rhythm of the rain? These were serious matters that a man and a woman in a cottage with a fire must solve for themselves. And so they did. And so it goes.

~o~O~o~

It was, perhaps, coincidence that after the prescribed period of time a greatly anticipated event took place. Pemberley had an heir! A fine, healthy boy named for friend and family. A bright, curious child who in a few short years would be free to indulge an adventurous nature. A lively, exuberant youth, who would one day say in breathless haste to his father, "Sir, I've found something today! I walked for miles and what do you think? I've found a cottage, a lovely one! Up in the north wood, just beyond the brook is a path. I took it, and there it was! Who lives there sir?"

Of course it had only been a matter of time. That day with more than a hint of sadness in his voice Fitzwilliam informed Elizabeth, "My dear Lizzy, I'm afraid we've been overthrown. The Palace is taken." And on that day the world held one less mystery. Darcy now understood why his father 'rued the day' young Fitzwilliam stumbled upon that old cottage twenty five years ago.

Twenty five years hence, young Charles Bennet Darcy and his bride will solve similar mysteries in much the same way.

And so it goes.

_Finis_

_By Michele C. Venable_


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